What We Carry
by Kate Lynn
Summary: The Luthor legacy is an impossible story to crack. For ego alone Perry White had to try. However, much more is at stake when he faces off against the Lionel Luthor of today, and against a past already hidden in blood.


**WHAT WE CARRY: A LUTHOR LEGACY**

**Chapter 1**

_**~*~**_

_April 15__th__, 1962_

**PRINCETON UNIVERSITY Undergraduate Financial Aid **

** Princeton, New Jersey 08542-0591 **

**Re-evaluation Inquiry **

Dear Lionel Luthor,

Incoming students with unusual or unavoidable circumstances that substantially affect their ability to meet their educational expenses are entitled to apply for a re-evaluation of their current financial package. Such circumstances as sudden unemployment, reduced wages, and exorbitant medical expenses may warrant a re-evaluation of eligibility. In all cases, thorough documentation will be required. If you believe your current situation falls under one these conditions you may request and submit a **Re-evaluation Form** that clearly states the exceptional circumstances that are not reflected in your current FAFSA records. Please be aware that the verification process will not enable a temporary hold on any financial due dates.

**Fees and expenses for the academic year 1962-63**

Tuition

Room charge

Board rate

Estimated miscellaneous expenses

Estimated total: 2,100.50

**Financial aid package for the academic year 1962-63**

Subsidized Loan

Federal Work Study

Metropolis Inner-City Youth Scholarship

Estimated total: 800.50

Balance due: 1, 300.00

All fees must be paid by May 1st in order to register for the fall 1962 semester.

**Leitch, Benedict A.**  
_Director, Undergraduate Financial Aid_

***

**Metropolis-Hold Insurance Provider**

_April 28__th__, 1966 _

Dear Metro-Hold Customer (account number 598-44-3353),

We regret to inform you that your building ownership policy does not cover the damage claims received for the April 20th fire of tenement property lot MKSS0079l.

For further inquiry:

Customer services can be reached at: 1-800-HOLD (4653)

Customer service hours of operation: 9:00 am-4:00 pm Mon-Thurs

Sincerely,

MHI Services

***

_May 17__th__, 1966_

**The Daily Planet **

**Healing With Nothing To 'Hold'**

_By Cynthia Peak _

A month has passed since the Tenement Terror

fire struck Metropolis's Suicide Slums. While

the devastation struck close to home for many,

what is perhaps most startling is the overall

blasé demeanor of city officials and residents

alike. Fire Chief Ronald Roache had this to

share: "These old buildings, most of them

weren't made to last. Keep piling people in

there without proper renovations and what do

you expect?" Many concur with Roache's

disapproval of the tenement owners' behavior.

"I heard of some who lost what most everyone

would call everything," says M. Edge, a

Metropolis resident. "I'm not saying it's all

Mr. Thames's [property owner of tenement

B] fault. But people lost family there. Something's

gotta come out from it." Owner Thames and his

wife of 46 years say they're certainly paying. "That building

was our life," Sarah Thames, 67, says. "We had insurance

but they won't cover anything. It's all about some

paper work to them. We kept the place up fine but

nobody's listening to us and now we got nothing.

It's possible to lose a life while still living it you know."

***

_November 7__th__, 1996_

Perry White looked at the three documents lying on the Daily Planet desk before him. Several boxes full of research sat off to the side, one including a handful of thick folders having L. Luthor somewhere on their labels. On top of them were random knickknacks from the desk he was emptying. A small potted fern with gaudy Christmas lights on it to hide its dehydrated state. A 1996 desk calendar with illegible notes scribbled on the backs of most of the pages. A wooden name plate reading "Cynthia Peak, editor."

The broad was gone. Most who had known the elderly editor would have changed the broad part to quite a different and less flattering B word. Perry didn't deny that his old mentor was, had been, and if there was any afterlife always would be a colossal bitch. But she'd used her unapologetic demeanor to great and uncompromising ends. That alone elevated her above a common bitch to him. The fact that she took the bitch mantel with glee had solidified her classiness.

Had taken with glee, not took. Not anymore.

Perry sighed, internally rebuking himself for such maudlin thoughts. There were far better things to focus on. Promising things. Unfinished things. The LuthorCorp story.

_Cynthia_, he thought, _isn't it funny how your kicking the bucket might be the best thing that ever happened to me?_

From somewhere far below Perry could have sworn he heard her saying that hell was better than purgatory and that she was sure she'd see him there soon. He liked to think she was smiling, as she'd done when less than a month after he'd been hired she'd told him, "Anyone who doesn't end up in one extreme or the other has no business in journalism, White. You might as well go on television."

Truth be told, Perry wouldn't mind a spot on television. He wasn't a clone of Cynthia in belief or behavior. He'd never have her class. Lacking that trait might finally pay off. He owed it to her.

Plus, landing a definitive Luthor story would be one hell of a good time.

Grinning, Perry quickly jotted down notes for himself and his assistants in his pocket pad. His reputation preceded him enough for him to feel secure that all the interns and underlings at the paper would chomp at the chance to work with him in whatever way he needed. All Perry now had to do was… figure out what he needed.

From the sparse financial aid letter from Princeton it was evident that Lionel Luthor had been hurting for money well before his lucky insurance break enabled him to start his own company. The records on the fire itself were heartbreaking, if one cared about the situation as a whole. Which, well, Perry didn't. Not at the moment. Human rights interests could come later. It would have to, since dark whispers of every kind surrounded the fertilizer king. But whispers could easily be hushed, as all previous journalists had found out.

_More_, Perry thought grimly. _I need more._

***

_November 15__th__, 1996_

"It's never a problem," said Lionel with a smile, one hand waving in someone at the door as he wrapped up a phone conversation. The person entering was a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing an old brown suit and whose blonde hair needed trimming. He strode forward and remained standing behind a chair, hands resting on the back as he watched Lionel finish his conversation. Lionel often took his calls standing, a habit that often left his visitors in an upright position as well if they caught him on the phone.

After a moment Lionel said into the phone, "Yes, double-checking can save one immense hassle down the road. I'm glad the figures worked out. I'm afraid I have to see to another appointment at the moment…" his eyes glanced down briefly at a fax in front of him before finishing, "Taylor. I'll speak with you later. Give my best to the family. Thank you, I most certainly will. Goodbye."

Hanging up and stretching his back briefly, Lionel turned his attention to the newcomer. "I apologize, Bill, a minor confusion with one of our overseas investors." He extended one hand towards the man, smile still in place. "How was the flight?"

"Since we're on the clock I could complain for awhile answering that," was the reply. Though off-hand, Bill's returned handshake had such force Lionel bit the inside of his cheek not to wince. Bill Kostas was a legal consultant at LuthorCorp, a white collar position that at first glance most certainly did not seem to suit him. He was a bullish barrel of a man who had spent his early twenties as an unsuccessful prizefighter and his mid-twenties as a moderately successful boxing coach. It was while coaching that Bill went back to school and discovered that beating people vocally was nearly as much fun as being in the ring, partly because he was much more adept at it. A latecomer to the field, "The Bull" had played catch-up with the best of them. Despite his uncultured sense of style and overt temper, he was a force to be reckoned with in the corporate law field. Lionel once compared him to Andrew Jackson in demeanor and bootstraps independence and had been pleasantly surprised that Bill had understood the reference. Or faked it quite well. Both ways had admirable qualities about them.

"We'll just take it out of your bonus, then." Gesturing to one of the black leather-backed seats across from the desk Lionel sat in his own. "How's Katrina?"

Bill grunted in response as he sat. "She's taken to bonding with Becky by getting piercings. I'm not sure which is worse, a fourteen year old having a body full of scrap metal or a thirty-six year old woman."

"It's an interesting approach at least," Lionel offered.

"If you're not sober to really think on it," Bill bluntly added, rising to the small bar in the corner and pouring as he said, "May I? Anyway, I think you had the right idea. Pack 'em up and send 'em off." He downed a shot of scotch, then left the glass turned down on the marble bar top, a ring of sticky residue forming and spreading slowly outward. Lionel remained silent, letting Bill carry on as he returned to his seat. "Course, Katrina'd probably just follow her to boarding school. Leaving them alone in another country to shop is more than any bank account should have to take."

Finally there was a pause, and with feigned interest Lionel offered, "I can get you in touch with the Headmaster at Excelsior if you wish. I haven't found him a problem to deal with."

"Can't hurt, right?" Bill's demeanor throughout the conversation had slowly relaxed and he offered a full smile. "Damn. Is there anyone you don't know, Lionel?"

First name ground reached, check. Lionel smiled back, eyes glancing over the requisite family photo on his office desk before resting on Bill again. "The phrase 'never met a stranger' was created just for me."

Bill chuckled, shaking his head. "What was it you always said? 'Creation is just waiting for reinvention,' something like that."

"Something like that."

"Well, federal law has yet to quite catch up with your enlightened state, but I do believe you're still in the clear. The soil analysis equipment recall doesn't fall under LuthorCorp jurisdiction. It'll put your affiliate deep in the hole, but whether you should stand by them or cut your losses isn't my area."

"What would you do, though?" Lionel edged in at the end.

Bill blinked. "It's not my area." The question clearly startled him.

Truthfully, it startled Lionel himself, though he was quick enough not to show it. He hadn't meant to voice the question out loud. He wasn't even all that interested in the answer. This wasn't Bill's area, as he'd said. Bill also was hardly a well of hidden depths, a fact Lionel knew after working with him for almost ten years. And yet the question sat there and Lionel didn't wave it off. "Take it as a whimsical turn in conversation, then."

Never one to remain silent for long, Bill then shrugged. "Not knowing how useful they are, I'd stick by them. It could be good press. 'Mistakes were made but we're a family here' and all that. I'm all for pissing off the right people but the right people are seldom small subsidiary companies who can't afford my retainer." By now Bill was clearly taking the question as a sign of friendship much like Lionel's calculated concern over his home life. Settled into an easy rapport he asked back, "What are you going to do?"

To Lionel, nobody deserved his answer to such a question. Over his life he'd met many extraordinary people who had not only thought outside the box but plowed the box down. However, none had gone to the lengths he had in order to do so. It wasn't that he wanted someone else to be on his level, to understand situations and him so well they could predict the best way – his way - of deal with something. However, the alternative always felt a bit like handholding. A leader wasn't purely a teacher.

Of course, he said no such thing. In response to Bill's question he replied, "I'm going to stand by LuthorCorp." Leaving it at that he rose, hand extended again. "I have to get back to a few things, but it was good as always to see you."

Bill rose and crushed his hand again. "Our involvement in the case should be closed in a week or so. I'll keep you apprised of things."

"Excellent, you know you always have my confidence. Say hello to Katrina and Becky for me." Bill merited a walk to the door. Opening the door, Lionel gave his shoulder a pat as Bill ducked out. A quick glance at the secretary outside his door told him there was no crisis to deal with so he let the door close and went back to his desk. Lacking a fireplace, Lionel chose to stare out the large window behind his desk. The wide paneling and distance from the ground gave him a spectacular view of Metropolis. At night all one could clearly see was a vast expanse of other tall buildings decorously projecting cool lighting from others still hard at work or play. During the day looking down one could make out the few parks, appearing as little oases of green melting into the city's blues and greys. It was possible to make out cars below, but only if one purposely tipped their head down and struggled to identify them separately by more than just color. After the splendor of the former sights it was really an after-view.

A billboard a few blocks away flashed, promoting a LuthorCorp slogan and product. Lionel never admitted it, but whenever he caught sight of his company's logo or slogan, his stomach fluttered with excitement. Even now, catching a product placement by surprise left him feeling like he'd run across an old love, one who had retained her freshness through maturation. Who was perhaps too comfortable at times until a slender wrist caught his sight and captivated him all over again. But he also felt wistful pride, the way a parent sees a child that has developed in ways unexpected but ultimately was created by them. LuthorCorp had been his baby, and had branched out well beyond just him. It had had its growing pains, but in the end it was nothing but a source of pride for Lionel. In every important way it was connected to him. Related to him. It'd insult everything the company and he stood for if he did not aim for perfection.

He barely needed to check his records to recall all the details related to the case Bill was working on. The Sol-Sil company provided LuthorCorp with soil regeneration products and testing results. It was national, which was nice on the budget. However, it probably wouldn't pay off after the lawsuits were finished. One contract he no longer needed to worry about renewing.

A handful of other companies had been contenders the previous year when LuthorCorp signed with Sol-Sil. Four remained competitive enough for him to rethink and plan potential new offers. In light of the media coverage that followed anything related to LuthorCorp, showing personal dedication to remedying the problem would counter some of the bad press. Two of the potentials had headquarters located near London. Lionel frowned thoughtfully. Two birds with one visit. Three, really, since he had investors there who always liked feeling important with a visit from him. He'd been planning on going recently anyway. Things would have to be frustratingly juggled on his schedule, but adaptation and quick-thinking were the foundations for any long-term success.

He called his assistant and worked out shifting meetings and scheduling teleconferences, then set his secretary off seeing to flight and hotel details. Then he glanced at the clock, saw it flashing 8:45 pm in red, and called the third number on his speed dial.

Reaching the voicemail box, Lionel began to leave a message. "Lex, something's come up and I'll be in London on business for a few days. I'll see you for dinner one of the nights if time permits. I know it's last minute but that seems to be your preferred method of living anyway. In the meantime I trust your classes are –"

"They're fine." Lex's voice cut through Lionel's, sounding hoarse but not groggy.

Of course he wasn't asleep at nearly three in the morning. "I hope you're not keeping your roommate up."

"I've no idea if Bruce is asleep." Lex's answer was shorthand, but more than enough to convey what Lionel wanted to know. Lex wasn't in his dorm, or probably at school at all. A random club perhaps, or a local acquaintance's unsupervised manor. Lionel doesn't know, and he detested not knowing. However, Lex didn't offer any other information, and since Lionel knew Lex wanted him to inquire further, he wouldn't. It'd take more than hell freezing over as pigs flew above to make Lionel Luthor dance to another's tune.

Instead, Lionel played along. Feigning misunderstanding he dryly replied, "If a question you just need look across the room to answer is stumping you perhaps you'd best be getting to bed yourself." The voice in his head was less sardonic, more annoyed and concerned. _'Just sleep and don't do anything that'd cause the papers to have another field day at the Luthor expense. Or anything_ _that'd kill you. Just THINK for once.' _

On the other end Lex paused, but when he spoke no trace of emotion was present. "Sound advice, dad. I'll talk to you later."

"Goodnight, son. I look forward to seeing you." As soon as he said this he knew Lex would pause again. Little escaped his lips that didn't make Lex paranoid and analyze it every which way. And Lex was smart… brilliant, even, Lionel always thought with a touch of pride and wariness. Lionel didn't even have to imbue what he said with a double meaning. He usually still did, but regardless Lex would try and prepare for every possible way he could mean something. It was a skill that would only help Lex in life, especially life at LuthorCorp. And so Lionel let Lex wonder rather than affirming anything. Lex might want coddling affirmation but Lionel had no interest in providing it.

After Lex offered a simple goodbye in return and hung up Lionel leaned far back in his chair, stretching to crack every joint possible. He should go home and pack. It was really the only reason to go home; his office was more than equipped to deal with him spending nights there. It was often easier to crash there, and he had more than enough assistants to keep him in cleanly pressed suits and expensive coffee. He rose, collecting a full briefcase and exchanging a polite goodnight with one of his assistants who knew the routine enough to call ahead and alert his driver to pull around. Lionel had to smile to himself a bit watching the night staff work with the easy confidence of the capable. It was as close to feeling at ease as he'd felt in a long time.

Stepping into the cool night air he shook off memories that tried to creep up. _Not now._ _Not ever._ Some pasts only existed to be reinvented.

***

_November 16__th__, 1996_

The Daily Planet was an established paper. Certain stories and staff were legends, some long past and others existing right before your eyes. Every newcomer had awe in their eyes, which inevitably touched even the seasoned members who recalled their own first steps. There were urban legends still shared, jokes no longer relevant yet still timely for being passed on, gossip nobody would really care about had it not been purely internal. One didn't get hired by the Planet to miss out on joining the elite club that wasn't spoken about yet blatantly existed. To say to someone else, "I work at the Planet," was to silently add with a smile, "and _you _don't."

Perry knew this. He knew it, understood it, and embraced it. Hell, after a few too many drinks he and a few coworkers also in their happy places had even sung about it on a tabletop at a local bar. He'd gone from an awe-struck intern to something of a legend himself. He loved The Planet.

But goddamn if he didn't wish it was a person at times so he could smack the hell out of it.

Days. He'd spent days doing research to build off what Cynthia left only to say for her, "If there was more to be found I'd have found it." All the resources at the Planet and nada. The people working with him had slowly gone from excited to doubtful, and being the Planet, that change was confirmed and shared at every water cooler in the building. There were better ways to let off steamed frustration. But his co-workers really didn't like it when he'd suggested they get laid.

The hell with them. The hell with himself. He could rant in his head and work at the same time. Blearily he refocused on the paper in front of him. Carried over from the front page was a story on the latest LuthorCorp lawsuit that had cost lives and millions of dollars but, of course, had nothing to do with LuthorCorp at all. Right. Of course. People were either idiots or monumentally indifferent to events around them. Perry wasn't sure which way cast people in a better light, and decided to just think of it as a collective bad light when someone breathlessly stopped at his desk. Looking up Perry saw Andrew McCallaugh, one of the Met U interns the Planet occasionally took on.

Knowing Perry's impatience Andrew spoke over regaining his breath. "In the break room Luthor's on TV. Channel five. Don't know entirely what it's about, but –"

"Good thing you left so we wouldn't know," Perry growled, rising fast enough to scatter the paper to the floor and cursing.

Without missing a beat Andrew bent and picked it up neatly, saying calmly, "It's being taped."

"Oh." That was a fitting enough apology for Perry, moving past Andrew and hurrying down to the break room, feeling charitable enough to add, "If he says anything of note which he never does, good going." The kid deserved it after all, and hadn't buckled under his temper. Perry made a note to keep track of him. His word down the line to an editor would surely mean more than any display of emotion now.

On the screen was indeed Luthor himself. Dressed in a suit that probably felt like a baby's butt or whatever the rich's measure for quality was these days, Perry found himself just studying the man. With ease he was playing the press with pat answers in a voice that hinted at a Slums accent. His hair was long though cleanly cut, like Samson gone corporate. Perry smiled at the image, making a note to use the comparison in his piece as he continued to examine Luthor. Lionel's stance was secure as only the hard won seem capable of. The press would get nothing out of him behind a microphone. Every difficulty dealing with the case that was brought up Luthor worked around. Perry understood that. Words laid on a line could overrun any action. They could rework things.

They could also _un_-rework things. If they have a proper through piece, a source that stretches back a link to the event. Events. Perry wasn't sure which it was yet, but he knew that to uncover it he'd need a direct source. Somehow, Luthor himself would have to be his mouthpiece. The seeds Lionel had already scattered weren't enough, Perry would need to find a way to squeeze more out of him.

He turned to Andrew who was watching the screen at his elbow. "Where'd he say he was going?"

Andrew looked at him with 'intern-face.' It was the classic expression of one wanting to say, "What the hell were you doing if you weren't listening?" yet differential enough to assume that perhaps it was really a brilliant maneuver he just didn't know of yet. Hopefully, it'd be the latter.

"London, sir. Working on some new contracts since Sil-Sol's going down. They say Sil-"

"Great, send me whatever else you got." Perry breezed by Andrew, already planning his own trip. The past had waited damned long enough.


End file.
